


"S" is for Hathaway

by Tarl



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship, M/M, Missing Scene, Romance, Slow Build, additional tags may be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarl/pseuds/Tarl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of missing scenes and episode tags highlighting the development of the relationship between Robbie and James throughout the series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sergeant

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for season 1-6 (mostly vague hints)

Robbie's almost tempted to turn around and find something - anything - else to do when he sees Innocent walking towards him; especially since Hathaway's shooting him a rather apprehensive look, but she's too close already, and there's no use delaying the inevitable. The case is solved, the killer's dead, and his duty of babysitting Hathaway is obviously over as well.

"Good result." 

He nods at her and manages to rasp out a thank you around the rotten taste in his mouth and the lump in his throat. Good result? Five people dead and a teenage girl in the hospital are anything but a good result in his book.

"I was telling Hathaway that DI Grainger needs a bagman," she continues, and he nods again.

"They'll do very well, Ma'am." And he has no doubt that they will. Hathaway may be somewhat awkward, but he's certainly clever enough to do well regardless of which Governor Innocent assigns him to.

"Well, that's my view, but Hathaway asked me to give you first refusal."

"Ma'am?"

"It's your choice, but you'll need someone."

First Refusal? He's stunned - no, _gobsmacked_ \- and jerks his gaze towards Hathaway who just bounces once on the balls of his feet, and for a second Robbie flashes back to Laura saying how Hathaway gets on with Innocent and he wonders. Really wonders what the lad might have told her. Wonders what in blazes he could possibly want with a used-up governor who's so scared of being condemned to training others that he'd rather throw in the towel altogether. He can live with a God-botherer if that's what it takes to keep him on the streets. He nods once, giving Hathaway a curt smile before heading towards the car as soon as he sees the lad's expression brightening. His sergeant. He shakes his head, sighing. They'll make do with each other. Somehow.


	2. Sir

A _bloody_ museum. Robbie frowns, more than tempted to say something, but he bites his tongue instead. He figures he owes Hathaway at least that much after the way he snapped at him earlier. Especially since - loath as he is to admit it - Hathaway had been right. He had been furious about Platt; been unable to concentrate on anything but his desire to march back in and clock the bastard.  
Robbie snorts. _This may be somewhat awkward, considering what happened to your wife..._ Hathaway had said before telling him about the accident Platt had caused. Awkward. There's nothing awkward about accidentally killing someone out of stupidity and arrogance.

"Sir," Hathaway intones at his side, nodding to his right before veering off into another room. Sighing, Robbie follows. Sir. The only thing Hathaway has deigned to say to him ever since declaring that he had seen the image on the ring before. They had spent the ride back into the city in an uneasy silence; Robbie somewhat embarrassed by his outburst and James mostly staring straight ahead at the road, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. He had briefly toyed with the idea of offering some sort of apology but Hathaway had kept sneaking brief, calculating - worried? - glances at him when he thought he wasn't looking. Worried. He huffed. No matter how much he still missed Val, he wasn't some fragile flower who'd break down every time they ran into another mindless bastard who insisted on driving under the influence. And he had managed to get through the worst of his grief without some lanky smart-arse pitying him, thank you very much.

"This," Hathaway proclaims, stopping in front of a display cabinet, "is the Greek god Dionysus."

"Go on," he says, letting his own thoughts wander as Hathaway's voice washes over him, rattling off something about German philosophers, delights and drugs and the release of artistic abilities. Somehow he even manages to make encouraging noises at the right place. He's still wishing that, just for once, someone could actually kill someone for something not connected to the bloody university. And he's pretty sure that that Nietzsche guy would have pissed him off just about as much as Platt if they had ever met.  
He latches back onto Hathaway's train of thought just in time and decides not to examine his sergeant's pleased smile too closely. Instead, he ignores the fact that at some point during Hathaway's lecture he actually calmed down and gripes about all the mystical and philosophical hogwash associated with their case. And, judging by the slight twitch to the corners of his mouth, Hathaway expects no less from him. Good.  
"That pawn ticket of Greely's? That was for a ring, wasn't it?" He says, already halfway out the door.

"To the pawn shop, Sir?"

"Nah." Robbie barely manages not to be run over by a class excursion and doesn't bother to hide his smile as Hathaway is briefly lost in a flurry of school uniforms. "Let's pay Mr Bundrick a visit."

"Sir."

He doesn't have to look back to know that Hathaway is _looking_ at him, gauging his mood. And yet, somehow, this time it isn't irritating. It just is.


	3. Stumbling Blocks

"Shouldn't we call the police?" Hathaway asks as they walk away from the pub, casting a glance back towards the door and the ruckus within.  
"Nah," Robbie shakes his head. "These people are pretty good at sorting themselves out." And it's not like the local beat cops don't keep an eye on the _Lower Depths_ anyway, since there's a brawl about every other night or so. "Besides," he continues, "I'm running late. My lodger will think-"

"You don't love her anymore." Hathaway interrupts, freezing mid-step. "I'm sorry, Sir," he practically stumbles over his words, eyes a little wider and shoulders more hunched than usual, "that... sort of slipped out. I've had a long day."

Robbie closes his mouth abruptly, unable to believe what he is hearing. Hathaway has had a bee in his bonnet about Diane ever since she arrived at the station; had been unusually forward what with asking him directly whether the girlfriend bit was true and everything. And he's clearly opposed to her staying with him. He frowns, swallowing another acerbic reply and the need to just stalk off. She may be an old girlfriend, but she's still a friend and Hathaway - Robbie pauses. Hathaway is - between the evening pints and all the hours they're practically joined at the hip due to work he has no idea what Hathaway is, but right now he's so far out of line he doesn't even know where to start.  
"And it isn't over yet," he snaps, walking towards the car while wracking his brain for some paperwork or other that he can make Hathaway do tonight, no matter how petty that is. 

"Sir," a few quick strides and Hathaway has caught up with him, hovering right behind his left shoulder, "I didn't mean-"

"I don't think I particularly care what you may or may not have meant, Sergeant." He's already had to run the arrangement past Innocent; he knows he hasn't dismissed the possibility of Diane being either a suspect or a material witness just because they went to school together and the fact that his own sergeant doesn't seem to trust him to do his bloody job rankles.

" _Sir._ " Hathaway again, but his tone is changed. Robbie finally stops, turns and glares at his sergeant. Hathaway's got that stubborn set to his jaw he usually reserves for whenever he intends to do something he fully well knows Robbie will disapprove of.

"Sergeant."

"I am sorry," Hathaway repeats, sticking his hands into the pockets of his trousers and straightening his shoulders. "I don't know wh-"

"James," Robbie shakes his head, he's not prepared to deal with whatever this is and Hathaway's right - it has been a long day, "just - go home. It's gonna be another early start tomorrow."

Hathaway jerks at the use of his given name, and gives Robbie another one of those strangely calculating looks that never fail to unsettle him. Finally, he relaxes, turning a loud exhale into something that could almost be a smile. "I'll find my own way home, Sir. Good night." And with another brief nod Hathaway disappears down the street, leaving Robbie to stare after him, wondering if he'll ever manage to find out what goes on in that head of his.


	4. Steadfast

“Because of you,” Innocents starts, rubbing her left temple with her hand, “I have a migraine. Because, and only because of the migraine,” she lifts her gaze, glaring at both Robbie and Hathaway in turn before settling for attempting to dissect Robbie with her gaze, “I'm not going to raise my voice at you.”

“Thank you, ma'am. That's a relief.” Robbie answers, grimacing. His head his still ringing and he's pretty sure that the scratches around his eye are still bleeding. 

“Intimidating witnesses, Lewis, one of whom was a child-”

“Oh, for heaven's sake! I just pulled a face at Daniel to stop him lying. I never raised a finger.”

“Well, you may have to prove that because the mother has taken advice.”

Robbie winces, sighing. Not good. If Stephanie does decide to file a complaint the fact that he had been sort of trying to date her certainly wouldn't go in his favour. Fortunately, Innocent seems content to let him be for the moment and focuses on Hathaway again.

“But you, you take the cake.” Robbie shifts on his feet, mindful not to draw her attention back to him. The way she is looking at his sergeant reminds him of all the times Lyn tried to kill Mark by staring at him when they were little.

“I'd like to explain, ma'am.”

“I bet you would! If I want your opinion, Hathaway, I'll ask for it. The incident was witnessed by the public, by children, by the press... If Mallory had let go you wouldn't be looking so bloody smug now, would you?

“Not smug, ma'am, it's just the unfortunate shape of my face. I'm sorry. It just seemed like the right-”

“Apologies are not enough!”

“Right psychology, ma'am.”

“This is demotion to the ranks. Right psychology my royal English arse!”

Demotion? No way; Robbie's just gotten used to having Hathaway underfoot. “If you put Hathaway in uniform, ma'am, I go with him.” And immediately the lethal glare returns to him. He takes his handkerchief and dabs at his still bloody brow. Sympathy does usually work as a distraction for Innocent. Or at least it had until now.

“Calling my bluff, are you, Lewis? Do you really think that's wise?”

“If it gets me out of giving this bloody speech.”

Hathaway snorts and this time Robbie really can't help but smile along.

“You two!” Innocent stabs a finger at both of them and then at the door. “Out! You're both taking a day off, or I swear I will...” she trails off, drawing a deep breath, “well, I don't know what I will do but I'm pretty sure Doctor Hobson will help me come up with something.”

Robbie's pretty sure that he's never been so quick to leave the office, and only stops once they have reached the car park, holding out his hand towards Hathaway. 

“Sir?”

“Car keys, Jim,” he explains, wondering why Hathaway frowns. “You, me, pub. I need a pint.”

“And a designated driver, it seems.”

Robbie just smirks at Hathaway and heads for the car. James stuck out his neck for him when he decided to work the case while it was still officially a suicide and he figures the lad has earned his reward. Positive re-enforcement and all that. Val had always tried to do that with the kids.

“And which pub do I want to drive us to tonight, Sir?” Hathaway asks from somewhere behind him.

“ _The King's Oak_ ,” Robbie decides, waiting for James to unlock the door already while he wonders how many beers it will take to make Hathaway write the speech for him. Still, plenty of time to tell him that he won't be driving home from the pub later. Wouldn't do to spoil him after all.


	5. Settlements

Robbie's been on the phone with that obnoxious woman from the hotline for less than two minutes and she's already managed to piss him off. Thoroughly. “Let me put it this way,” he tries again, “if I have a friend who has a gambling problem and I come to you for help, what is the first thing that would happen?”  
He rolls his eyes at Hathaway as the woman finally deigns to answer – without saying anything useful, of course – but his sergeant's apparently too engrossed in that bloody crossword of his. Robbie winces and covers his left ear. Still too loud in the pub to properly understand anything.

“Yeah, I understand about confidentiality, but it's a murder inquiry, so it takes priority." He glares as one of the patrons shoulders his way in and is just about to say something as the woman finally agrees to be helpful. “A name, address and phone number would be deeply appreciated.” Better to get the information before she decides to protect people's trust again.  
“Hang on a minute; let me write this down,” Robbie leans half-way through the door, snapping his fingers at Hathaway who's already handing over his notepad and a pen. Robbie quickly jots down Professor Walters' contact details – mathematician, so maybe he'll be spared from more bloody Shelley – and turns back to Hathaway. Who still doesn't look up. He's already managed to fill in about half of the clues and the rest of the paper is littered with notes on the unsolved clues and what looks suspiciously like quotes of some sort.

Robbie sighs, plunks down on the bench and takes the empty glass from his sergeant who, with his crosswords and bloody quotes and whatnot is sometimes so eerily like Morse that he keeps expecting half-empty bottles of liquor to turn up out of thin air and occasionally catches himself looking for round, brown stains on the paperwork. Not that Hathaway's paperwork would ever be anything but pristine. He probably takes a new sheet of paper and starts all over again every time he finds a spelling error or something. Bloody menace to the rainforest is what he is.

“Jim,” he bumps his shoulder against Hathaway's who finally looks up, his expression strangely bland.

“Sir?”

Robbie frowns. Something isn't right. “This is the second time that you're giving me that look today, Sergeant.” Hathaway shrugs and looks down at his crossword again, leaving Robbie to stare at his left ear. “You were sulking earlier too, down in the vault of the library right after I called you -” Oh. Robbie blinks. That must be it. “Jim,” he says and Hathaway's face turns into a stony mask. “You dislike being called Jim.”

“I wouldn't put it quite that strongly, Sir,” Hathaway picks at the edges of the paper. “I'm merely not used to being addressed that,” he frowns, “informally.”

“Meaning you hate it,” Robbie states and the faint pink flush to the tip of Hathaway's ears proves him right. “Bloody hell, man, you could have said something!”

“Sir.” Hathaway's looking decidedly unhappy now.

“Well,” Robbie gets up, “I guess we'd better go and talk to Professor Walters then.” He decides to ignore the obvious relief on Hathaway's face as he hands the glass back and heads for the door. “Come on then, James.”


	6. Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the long wait and had intended to post earlier but due to rather unforeseen circumstances I ended up in hospital for quite a while and was seperated from my beloved laptop and the internet, since the ward I was in had no wireless anyway :(  
> So, another thank you to all of you who have read and/or reviewed and I hope you enjoy this new chapter

"Sometimes, Sergeant Hathaway," Robbie says as James settles next to him on the sofa with a relieved sigh, "I worry about your taste in music." Not that the rock or whatever stuff James has put on is that bad but there's no need to tell the lad that.

"Sometimes, Inspector Lewis," James retorts, barely missing a beat, "I worry about your taste in women."

Robbie suppresses a wince before raising his beer bottle. "I'll drink to that," he announces, hiding a pained smile as the glass clinks. Meeting Ann Kriel for dinner had been unprofessional enough to be almost worthy of Morse. Somehow his governor had always managed to fall for the suspected victim or least likely suspect of whatever case they were investigating and more often than not the woman in question had turned out to be if not the murderer then at least an accomplice. He waits until James takes another sip from his bottle. "Just because you worry doesn't mean I won't laugh once it's your turn."

James coughs satisfyingly for a moment, but still manages to swallow his beer rather than snort it out.  
"I have no intention of, how did you put it?" Hathaway pauses, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly as he continues to stare straight ahead, "Of being played for a fool by some ten-foot Barbarella."

"Doesn't mean it won't happen."

"Sir."

Robbie sighs. "And Laura wonders why I always feel like you're disagreeing with me when you call me that."

"Sir!"

Hathaway is finally looking at him now and Robbie raises his eyebrows at him. "Or trying to scold me for something I have supposedly said or done."

"I would never dare to cast any aspersion on my superior officer's authority by implying that his behaviour has been anything but impeccable."

"Right." Robbie snorts. "Poster child for obedience and acquiescence, is what you are. No cheek at all."

"Sir."

Robbie answers James's smile with a grin of his own and looks around, glad to be rid of the strange tension that had existed between them from the moment they had first discussed Ann Kriel. It had been obvious from the get-go that James disapproved of her, though he had never said why - except for pointing out that Milo had died in her rosebushes - and made a point of the fact that whatever relationship Robbie chose to have wasn't any of his business.  
James is humming along with that music of his - just a little bit off key, as far as Robbie can tell - and he wonders how this, how annoying each other over a pint of beer, came to be the highlight of his work. It might almost be worth asking James, if only to see the lad get flustered before sputtering either some sort of social or psychological study or a bucket-load of poetry no one in their right mind would ever understand anyway. And besides, the quiet is somewhat nice and there's always time to wind up Hathaway later, if he wants to.  
Smiling, Robbie takes another sip of his beer.


End file.
